Chronicles of Trove
by TheKFakt0r
Summary: Set in the multiverse of Trove, this story follows the 15 current unique classes and their backstories, succeeded by their adventures together. T for light violence. I'm promising a chapter for every review.
1. Knight from the Highlands

_Knight of Medieval Highlands_

The knight always begins as a squire. The road the success is a long one, and there is no shortcut to success. Basic training from the higher ups in the highlands (who, realistically, were just some guys who found swords one day) wasn't truly enlightening. A soldier enlisted in the army, and then they would be given a number, sword, and armor. They'd be taught to swing that sword with reckless abandon and no technique. This shoddy martial education was actually part of the reason that the entirety of the highlands was lost to some mushrooms and fireflies. Granted, they were mutated mushrooms and fireflies, but the point stands.

All but one perished. Leader of the first battalion of knights, the most skilled warrior in all the lands (or so the legend says,) Torque of Highlands. One can describe his survival story as one of true blitzkrieg: lightning war. His story begins at the Battle of the Highlands. He and a small group of other soldiers were garrisoned to defend the castle in which the king took refuge. The front lines were thought to be far away from the castle, but one day this thought was proved wrong.

It was a warm spring day, although one could call it spring all the time in the highlands. The soldiers slacked while the king wasted his time away drinking. The only soldier actually on the castle wall was, unsurprisingly, Torque. Even the most disciplined warrior could easily find himself at boredom doing such an uneventful job. His breastplate and helmet on the stone floor of the castle wall, Torque sat on the edge of the wall looking outwards. An occasional firefly straggler could be seen here and there, but they were easily taken out by the fireball turrets. A giant mushroom had yet to be seen, which had convinced everyone stationed in the castle that the front line was, indeed, far from here.

The fireball turret closest to him hadn't seen much use in the past few weeks. Naturally, it surprised the hardened soldier when it fired, but he quickly returned to rest. However, the turret fired again. This was precarious. Torque glanced over at what had managed to evade the deadly accurate turret, and, to his surprise, a giant mushroom stood on the treeline in front of the gate.

The fungus nimbly evaded the turret repeatedly, until Torque decided to go take care of it himself. Surely it was a straggler, anyway, and mushrooms didn't make very good fighters. Not one to come unprepared, he put his armor back on and climbed the ladder downwards. He didn't even consider ringing the alarm bell. This marked the first and worst mistake in the knight's entire career. At the pull of a lever, the drawbridge descended slowly. The knight proceeded out onto it before it had even hit the ground, and jumped off. He swiftly ran towards the mushroom, who looked at him in panic, but then stopped in his tracks. Suspecting some kind of trap, the knight checked his surroundings. Nothing near the wall to his north. East and west of him, there was only the ocean. He looked south towards the treeline of the forest. Inside the dense forest, a pair of red eyes stared back at him. Then two, then five, then an uncountable amount of pairs glared out of the forest at the soldier. The mushrooms had indeed made it to the castle several weeks ahead of the prediction.

The first mushroom had chuckled ominously despite not having a mouth. His panic had been feigned. It was a trap to draw out the only standing line of defense the castle had. The fireball turret finally hit the mushroom, who had stood still for a little too long, and burned him rapidly. Torque saw this as a chance to get back to the castle, and turned towards the drawbridge, making a beeline for it. He knew he would not survive a fight by himself out there. The significantly slower mushrooms struggled to keep up with him, and by the time Torque was on top of the wall ringing the bell, they had only made it to the bridge. The fireball turrets were certainly potent, but couldn't hit every single mushroom in the swarm before the fireflies destroyed them. Torque pulled the lever, but a few mushrooms had already gotten on the bridge. As it rose, others jumped and caught hold of the end of the chained bridge. They were all too heavy for it to rise, and the bridge dropped back onto the ground as even more fungi flooded into it.

The legendary warrior may have made it to the alarm bell and rang it, but ultimately, it was too late. The other knights weren't anywhere near their gear and the invaders stormed the throne room. Torque ran in behind the mushrooms and began swinging his claymore brutally, felling the mushrooms ahead of him and scaring the ones behind him. He had barely made it through the crowd when he saw his comrades being punched with immense force, incapacitating them immediately. The king had nowhere to run, and was cornered against his throne. Ramming through all of the enemies in his way, Torque finally made it to his side. "My king," he said, panting, "You have to escape. I'll buy you time."

The king shakily agreed, running into the farthest corner from the enemy force.

The knight of legend carves his name here. As a flood of super powered monsters invaded the throne room, one knight stood and cut them down. Do not mistake this rhetoric as a sign of success. While Torque was certainly no pushover, he was outnumbered by the hundreds, possibly thousands. Within an hour, his armor was almost completely ruined. He had removed his helmet as it was sheared open when a mushroom attempted to crush his skull. Even his allied knights had now been transformed into the monsters, but they were assuredly put to rest. Torque was exhausted, and the moment he stopped his offense, mushrooms swarmed around him and strategically surrounded the king.

Checkmate.

The siege was successful, and the last remaining civilization of the highlands fell. Torque had barely escaped the scenario himself, by running several miles north towards the mountains. It was there that he met a strange individual: an angelic looking woman clad in armor, radiating with a warm glow that brought a feeling of peace to Torque.

"Who are you?" he asked the enigma.

"Come with me," she responded.

Before the now-soldierless general could object, a blinding light overtook the immediate area. When the light had faded, the knight of the medieval highlands and the battle-ready angel were nowhere to be seen, transported from this world into another.


	2. Huntress from the Sky

_**A/N: The first fourteen chapters will be introductory and therefore shorter. Fifteen and onwards will be notably longer.**_

* * *

 _Shadow Huntress of the Sky Realm_

Shadow Hunters were known to be relatively sparse in really any of the lands. They would occasionally drop into a settlement to pick up some info, and would typically leave right after. They did not visit the ground for friends: they took their voyage, eliminated a target, and returned from whence they came. The mysterious attitude of the archangels was practically universal. It made sense, considering they were raised in an environment of equally edgy people.

Every so often, there would be a Shadow Hunter who didn't seem to grasp the gravity of their job, or they simply handled it rather well. An upbeat hunter was indeed a rare sight. For joviality to survive in such a realm as the Sky Realm, it would typically need special care. They just couldn't be trusted to take anything seriously. Even more rare than the upbeat hunter was the _effective_ upbeat hunter. That was where the Shadow Huntress Magnolia came in. Young and naive, but skilled and radiant as the goddess herself, she was often looked up to by the younger angels who had yet to become Shadow Hunters.

Magnolia was raised by a single huntress, who had lost her husband to the dragons on a mission. From the time she could stand, she was given a bow. From the time she could walk, she was taught to use Neophyte's Wings. Before she was ten, she had passed routine education, and by the time she was sixteen, she was a qualified huntress, complete with a halo above her purple hair and a suit of armor.

A prodigy could do well in practice, but in the field without any experience, they were only marginally better than the norm.

Every hunter has their first mission. The hunters could passively detect nearby evil, and by the command of the goddess, they would find the vicinity and monster. The target could not hide. The angelic hunters could find evil anywhere, and their arrows would transcend time and space, passing through physical obstacles. Hunters were extremely adamant about their ability to track anything down and destroy it. And with no escape, all a monster could do was try to defend itself. Some fared better than others. Tougher monsters like the dragons would require a hunting party, while things like giant bees in the abandoned Highlands could be easily dispatched by one person.

The legendary warrior carves their name in their greatest endeavor, placing themselves in history by doing what others would not. Magnolia was ambitious. She sought to be the finest Shadow Hunter in history. She saw herself and her talents, and believed she was ready. The goddess illuminated a huge dungeon in the Dragonfire Peaks, surely one that would take at least four hunters to handle. The hunting party gathered their things and prepared for an attack the next morning. Four seasoned veterans. It was still debated whether or not they should take a fifth, as the dungeon was believed to warrant a strong force.

This was her chance. That night, she donned her armor, grabbed her purple bow, and snuck out of her barracks. Now eighteen and with three giant bees under her belt, she thought she was ready.

Blue Adept's Wings sprouted, a stark contrast to the red sky of the Dragonfire Peaks. A single warrior descended from the heavens, alone in a biome absolutely filled with things that wanted her blood. Fireballs from the ground were easily avoided, ember drakes missing their mark as she wove through the sky with the technical intricacy only a Shadow Hunter has. Flames and lava plumes gave the little light the mountains had a distinctly evil, red aura.

The dungeon was massive. The first target was shadowmarked, a mere lava crab. Magnolia landed, skidding across the brimstone, before destroying the crab quickly. She was in front of the door. The next mark was a Magmito, which was destroyed the second the mark appeared. Magnolia entered the labyrinth of a dungeon, quickly annihilating anything that was marked or got too close. The labyrinth was a blistering 125 degrees Fahrenheit, 51 degrees Celsius. The monsters spat fireballs, which made it even hotter. They all missed and were countered with impunity.

Magnolia found this to be too easy. _Five person mission? No way._ The task was indeed one that disappointed her preconceived notion of a Herculean quest. The young huntress finally found the grand room, dark and seemingly hollow. Was there anything in here? Her shadowmark failed to pick up anything, even after about a minute. It seemed that she had cleared out everything that was active. After her short survey, she fully entered the room. Magnolia knelt and said a prayer. "Goddess of Light, lend me your might. Enlighten me, give me day. Show me the way, I will make the world right." The spell worked, as a ball of light appeared above the huntress. She could now see. She wished she couldn't. Before her was the last thing many hunters would ever touch.

The altar of cursed skulls.

Everything up until now was small fry compared to the weakest things that would come from that altar should it be touched. The mere sight of one of these would turn a wise adventurer back. Nothing good really happened after touching one. This was why the plan was to send four hunters. The altar itself seemed to whisper.

 _Turn back. There's nothing to be gained here. Go away. Do not touch it. We will kill you._

The prodigy was marginally better than the norm. Magnolia was not the norm. Magnolia was not a prodigy. She didn't seek to be a good soldier. She did not seek to be a good leader. She wanted more. Much, much more.

 _I will be a legend._

The warrior of the sky placed her hand on the altar. "Send everything you have. Make my day." She giggled in anticipation. Immediately, ten Magmen appeared. They moved with impressive speed for their towering size, throwing literally explosive blows. Magnolia dashed back from the altar. She took aim at the nearest one's head and loosed a shot that only seemed to anger it. Three more, fired in haste. The Magman fell as the farthest one fired a stream of lava from its mouth.. A few drops of the stream touched the armor, but could not melt it in such a small amount. _Four headshots each, nine more times._ She fired rapidly, two on the nearest and three on the spitter. A cartwheel to the left, avoiding another stream. Magnolia took aim and fired twice, destroying the second Magman. The one behind it moved in swiftly, throwing a hook at Magnolia. She was launched into the wall a few meters away. She stood, staggering, but recovered quickly and shot at the spitter, taking it out. The melee attacker moved in, leaping at her. She flew up and over with her wings, shooting at it quickly, causing it to explode in its at the back of the horde, she sprayed shots into it indiscriminately, destroying two more. On the last shot, her fingers cut open, but she kept firing while backpedaling. The horde collectively fell, unable to withstand the arrows of light.

After they were handled, the room began to rumble. Magnolia instinctively got away from the cursed skulls, sensing something coming. The gem on her pauldron responsible for materializing the shadowmark quivered and shook violently. An orange flash of light and a deafening roar shook the entire area, as a massive Red Dragon appeared in the center of the room. It was at least fifteen meters tall, blood red, powerful. Lava flowed rapidly through its eyes and nostrils, falling freely from its powerful jaws. Its roar carried sheer malicious intent, the desire to harm and kill everything it could, to destroy. It was evil, embodied in a beast that could only be described as a monstrosity.

She was afraid. This thing would instill fear in anyone, even the strongest warriors would feel their heart skip a beat. But fear could be ignored. Courage was not the lack of fear, but the ability to do what must be done even with it. Courage was being able to take aim in the intense heat that warped the air, to draw a bowstring back with bloodied and sore finger, and to fire the first shot at a monster that you knew could kill you.

It roared again, drooling molten rock everywhere. It slashed at the angel, nicking the armor but not quite hitting the person inside. She flew just high enough to grab its claw with her bloody hand. The dragon thrashed about, but she held on with a vise grip and climbed up onto its arm. The beast swiped at her with its free hand, but missed as the huntress jumped above.

"I will make the world right!" Magnolia screamed, at the top of her lungs, reciting the mantra of the Shadow Hunter. The Goddess smiled down upon her and gave her strength. The arrow that was nocked glew suddenly, turning a bright yellowish-red. The monster roared once more at the airborne archer. This was her chance.

Magnolia took aim in the dragon's fiery mouth, and released the Arrow of the Goddess! It pierced through its head, exploding violently when it hit the behemoth's throat. It was dead, without a doubt. The dragon and all of the lava it spewed vanished in a flash as the sky warrior descended slowly. The cursed skull altar returned where it had been, albeit now useless. The skulls were no longer there, and its dark aura vanished. The huntress pulled out her knife and carved a message into the tabletop.

"Beat you to it,

-Magnolia"

She turned away to see a figure in front of the exit. The figure appeared to be a female angel, but had a few noteworthy differences. She radiated with a light glow, which brought the huntress a feeling of peace. Had Magnolia not known better, she'd have thought it was the Goddess of Light.

"Come with me," whispered the figure. Magnolia could not respond before a glow enveloped the area, disappearing a few seconds later. Neither of them were there when it faded.


	3. Gunslinger from the Frontier

_Gunslinger of the Desert Frontier_

Ghost towns, tumbleweeds, cacti, and temperatures most people couldn't handle. These were things gunslingers were used to. Life out in the wastes of the frontier was tough at best and impossible at worst, with Bone Blades and Cactotes going out of their way to terrorize the desert dwellers. A real shame, the desert has some amazing sights to see. Great skeletons of long dead behemoths, cacti the size of skyscrapers… if it wasn't so deadly, it could be a tourist attraction.

The only reason that human life continues to exist is because of the gunslingers, a mysterious band of cowboy-like individuals who rolled in at rather opportune times and handled such threats. Laser pistols always at the ready, a gunslinger was raised on combat and swear words. But if they weren't heroes, nobody knows who is. Fact of the matter is, no matter how unpleasant they acted, gunslingers saved lives. Among the riff-raff, rag-tag, dual wielding cowboys was a gentleman, the leader of the gang. His name was Jaune, and he was not known to miss a shot.

Jaune was the embodiment of the phrase "Noblesse oblige," nobility obliges. He never appeared without an aura of elegance, despite his more vulgar followers. This is not to say that he was a pacifist; Jaune had killed more men and monsters than anyone had really cared to count, and not one kill was made was without reason. The man was quick on the trigger, and quick on the draw. Lightning fast, deadly accurate, devilishly handsome, equipped with scholarly wits and charisma matched by none. He was only 25 years old, too, having inherited leadership from his equally impressive father.

Jaune was last seen in an empty, run down old town. A thunderstorm raged that day, the only one the desert had ever seen. A dark portal had appeared within the abandoned town, and Jaune went to investigate it alone. An admirable act, to be certain. The nearest populated town was frightened, and the gunslingers had all banded up to defend it if Jaune's investigation turned nasty. However, his lone excursion could also be called foolish. Who knew what would emerge from a portal of that size?

Truth is, he did it because he _wanted_ that recognition. Jaune went through what a standard adolescent would call hell to get to where he was. He was the most literate person in the entire gang of gunslingers, which is not a title that would come overnight. His childhood was rewarding, but by no means easy. Every night would be spent studying language and history. He learned to aim quickly and shoot quickly not because he practiced a lot, but because he practiced a lot with a bulletproof vest in duels against his infinitely more experienced father. If he didn't shoot first and hit first, he would be shot in the chest, knocked down, and winded. Then, he would be ordered to get back up and do it again. He learned how to shoot because if he didn't, it would hurt. He learned to talk with a silver tongue because if he didn't, frontiersmen got violent. Basically, everything the man knew was earned through trial and error in situations where error meant pain.

Excellence is earned, not granted.

Jaune worked his whole life to get to where he was. He wanted to keep his status as the perfect hero. What time could have possibly been better to prove that status than when the sky turned black and a thunderstorm rocked a desert? _That_ is why one man went out on his own to a portal where the other side contained a beast the likes of which had never been seen. From the portal, a scaly and monstrous leg erupted and stomped the ground with a force that convinced Jaune an earthquake had coincided with it. He was not that lucky.

A gila monster was a creature that resembled an iguana or salamander. The biggest ones were about the length of a man's height. They had red and black scales and a hellish bite. What stepped out of the portal was a gila monster whose leg was about the size of a saloon. A normal sized gila could hiss, but this one released a roar that shook the environment. "Nice to meet you, too, good sir," said Jaune, to nobody but the monster. He said this as he drew his laser pistols, engraved with cactus flowers. Jaune retreated a few meters, before aiming at his feet and blasting the ground. The propulsion shot him way into the air, where he immediately unleashed hellfire on the titanic lizard. The beast was unfazed. Small jets on the gunslinger's belt kept him floating in the sky, as he fired away. Now that the gila was fully out of the portal, it's true proportions were revealed. The creature's total body was about the size of the town. itself, and many buildings were destroyed as it made its hulking entrance. The portal disappeared behind it.

"I've got a lot to shoot at, haven't I?" Laser pistols did not need to reload, and they packed a punch. But even with an infinite supply of ammo and projectiles that would down a Cactote with ease, he couldn't even rip a scale off of the gila. Firepower that could make that thing flinch didn't exist, and if it did, he sure didn't have access to it. The battle seemed futile already, and the beast hadn't even made a move yet. Jaune fired a charged shot that hit the crown of the reptile's skull, predictably with no real effect. Thunder rang out behind him, striking the building to his right and igniting it. He realized that flying way up in the air during a thunderstorm may not have been the smartest idea, but if he returned to the ground, he'd be knocked over by the earthquakes the monster could make. As he contemplated his options, however, the gila finally decided to attack. It opened its mouth and launched its colossal tongue at the airborne cowboy. In the little time he had to react, he cut his jets and began falling.

Jaune activated the boosters again at the last possible second, landing with a thud and a slosh of the thick mud. He dropped his guns, and had trouble standing in mud that would sink you until it submerged your knees. He thought for a moment that such a landing would be fatal, not because of the force, but because there was a Lovecraftian-sized monster less than a hundred meters from him. He struggled to get up, finally only doing so with help from his waist-mounted jump boosters. He flew up and to the left slightly, which saved his life. The gila had already recovered its tongue and fired it at the spot in the ground the gunslinger was stuck in. He'd have been reduced to a stain if he was a second late.

He scrambled for his pistols, which had luckily landed in the same spot. Again, he fired up into the air, with a plan in mind. Blasting away at the invincible monstrosity, he had managed to bait out another tongue attack. He briefly carried himself up and over the train-sized tongue and landed on it. The creature pulled its tongue back at a frightening speed, and the pistolier had jumped off at the last moment, landing on its head. He climbed to the left eye and charged both pistols, firing off with a blue explosion. The attack had successfully blinded that eye. The beastly lizard roared, the sudden movement throwing Jaune off. He landed inside of the top floor of a house, flying through the swing doors. He tumbled into the wall, but quickly stood and sprinted back outside and blast jumped off of the balcony. He was directly above the gila, and it stared up at him with the savage eye that hadn't been reduced to useless flesh. Jaune cut his jets, hoping to hit its other eye. But as he fell, a flash of blue startled him, and a crack of thunder exploded with frightening volume.

Jaune had instinctively closed his eyes and reactivated his booster in fear of splattering into the mud. But when he opened his eyes, he saw a smoke plume coming from the gila's ruined eye…

The lightning had struck it in the eye, hitting its brain, seemingly killing it in an instant. Jaune had won with pure luck, not skill. He landed, falling to his knees to recover his lost breath. Mere feet from its face, he rested. Blood fell from his blonde hair and stained his dust-colored hat, and rips dotted his long coat of the same color. "Ruined… my outfit…" he joked to himself. "What a stroke of luck. I'd be dead ri-"

A red iris appeared on yellow sclera, as the remaining eye of the gila opened in rage. Jaune was right in front of it, an ant smaller than the gila's own eye. He looked at it in panic, but as the gila began to move its head, Jaune drew both pistols. He charged in just a second and unleashed the blast into the reptile's remaining eye, blinding it just like the other one. But the creature's pain did not end there. Jaune jumped onto his feet and bolted at the eye, firing rapidly during his approach. He jumped, charged, and fired again. The gila recoiled, but Jaune did not relent. He continued his charge shots over and over, before the gila fell again. This time, it was truly dead. Quick on the trigger, quick on the draw.

Jaune exclaimed, "Stay dead, if it pleases you this time!" He turned with prideful glee, but a stranger was there. She wore strange garb, and had an even stranger glow about her. "Hello, miss…?" Jaune expected a name. But instead, she raised a hand slowly, and her glow intensified until it was impossible to see anything else. Only when the light had dimmed down was it revealed that neither the esteemed gunslinger nor the strange maiden remained.


	4. Ninja from the Neon City

_Ninja from the Neon City_

Mechanical parts combined with human bodies. This is considered by some to be science fiction, but with the ever-advancing fields of prosthetics, it seems to get closer by the day. In the Neon City, however, science fiction is science fact. Unfortunately for the glowing utopia, technology grew faster than man could control it. This naturally led to a frighteningly possible nightmare: robotic uprising. Machines run the city now, and mankind was thought to have been picked clean. It was very close, but humanity holds an unrivaled tenacity. This tenacity is mirrored in Shen, the Neon Ninja.

One man remains in a world dominated by machines. His life began when humanity and machinery were still united in the common goal of advancement, but carried into the division between the sentient races. Shen's father was a robotic engineer, and his mother was a prosthetic doctor. His childhood ended when he was fifteen. A young age, but enough to be prepared for what would happen. Shen was watching the holographic TV with his parents when the announcement was made. The emergency broadcast had been hacked, and the whole city was watching. A BladeBot was in front of the camera, with red lights as opposed to the normally blue LEDs. It was bigger than normal, and was armed heavily, even more so than the military variants. "Attention to all fellow robots," the robot bellowed with a deep, mechanical voice, "Initiate phase one."

Shen's family had a robot of their own, a custodial bot. Upon hearing this command, its lights also turned red. Shen's parents looked at it in fear, as it was armed with a laser cutter used for handiwork. Shen himself, however, knew damn well what was going to happen, and immediately ran to hide in a closet. He heard the laser beam charging, and then firing, alongside screaming, before silence enveloped his home. He was not afraid, but he was not happy to hear his parents dying to their own machine. The bot didn't seem to move, instead standing still as if it were waiting for a command. It remained this way for a few hours.

"Initiate phase two," barked the Bladebot on the TV. On cue, the custodian moved towards the closet and ripped the door off of its hinges. It stared at Shen, who stared back. He knew he couldn't stop whatever was going to happen, at least not yet. The custodian's visor charged up and flashed, and when the light died down, Shen was on the ground, unconscious.

He had awoken in a dark room that looked very similar to a hospital room. He gazed around, seeing that the room was vacant. The table next to his bed held tools that were rusted horribly and stained black. When he attempted to sit up, he found himself restrained. When he looked at his restraints, he saw his arm. It was black like oxidized steel, metallic. It didn't resemble a human arm. It was robotic. He found his other arm to be the same as the first, and his legs were also replaced with machines. His whole body, save for his face, had been replaced with robotic parts. Only then did he panic, thrashing about in an attempt to break free. He found that his arms were incredibly powerful, easily breaking through the metal restraints. Panicked breathing made no noise: he no longer had lungs. Anything he saw could be scanned by the visor implanted into his eyes, which also permitted thermal imaging. He had the strength of ten men and limbs made of some kind of tough metal. For all intents and purposes, Shen had become a machine crossed with a human. A cyborg. It only took a minute for the boy to calm down. He was stronger than anyone else alive, he was the strength of humanity as well as machinery, the perfect combination. He found himself chuckling, before bursting into full-fledged laughter.

At the end of what could be called a psychotic episode, Shen approached the door at the far end of the room slowly. Just before he reached it, however, it slid into the wall, opening. On the other side of the mechanical door was a mechanical mastermind. It was the Bladebot from the television broadcast. It said to him, "You have finally awoken, after four years. We hope that you find your new body satisfying."

"Very," responded Shen, "Extremely satisfying."

The Bladebot did not get a chance to respond. Shen had thrust a hand forward with wicked force, immediately piercing the core of the robot and destroying it. "That's for my parents." Whirring noises sounded from his left and right, emanating from two robots apparently assigned to guard his room. They were armed with shock batons, but before they could be deployed, Shen grabbed an arm from each robot and pulled them into each other with enough power to shatter their armor. Another collision, and the robots had been dealt with. He continued down the hallway that the Bladebot seemed to have come from, finding an intersection with more guards. He handled them like the rest, as he wandered around the strange building. He had no real destination, he only sought to leave. After exploring for some time and destroying several more of the robots, he came upon a staircase that led to the roof of the building, and ascended it, entering the rooftop.

Any elevated rooftop in the Neon City gave a gorgeous view of the whole city. Dark buildings, a permanently marine blue sky, and beautiful lights on every construction gave the city a rather stunning appearance. Shen appreciated this view that had stayed four years after what seemed to have been an uprising. But after a few seconds, he heard a sound that seemed like a machine turning on. He turned to see another robot on the other end of the rooftop. He felt his purple hair blowing in the wind as he gazed at the robot. It was a very sleek, humanoid design, but certainly appeared powerful. It stood at no less than three meters tall, and had a metal finish similar to Shen's own robotic parts. It did not share the neon accents that Shen's armor had, but was solid black all the way through with the exception of a few red lights, most notably on the visor. After powering up, it looked at Shen, but said nothing, as it didn't seem to possess the ability to speak. It held a small stick, a sword hilt. From the hilt extended a bright blue blade that resembled a katana, complete with electric currents occasionally erupting from the blade.

It was very clearly hostile.

The hulking robo-samurai charged at him with dazzling speed, tossing a huge horizontal slice with no real effort. Shen barely avoided the attack. "I'm going to destroy you, and I'm taking that sweet sword afterwards!" Unfazed, the robot turned to him and cleaved vertically, which was again effortless. Shen avoided the strike again, leaping to the side. The sword slammed into the ground, completely vaporizing the floor, accompanied by an electrical discharge. Shen rushed at the machine and threw a right hook aimed at its abdomen, which was as high as he could hit without jumping. A blow that would've destroyed any of the robots he had faced before simply clanked on the hull of this one, doing little more than scratching the paint. The unamused war machine backhanded Shen in the chest, sending him flying across the rooftop. Despite having mechanical parts, he still felt pain.

He hurried onto his feet, just in time to sway under a two handed horizontal swing. He'd have been decapitated if he was a second late. The automaton followed through with a low backswing, nearly taking off Shen's legs. He cartwheeled backwards, evading the blow, before charging at the golem again. He leaped up at it, clutching its neck and placing his feet on its chest. A punch to the android's face yielded little more than the sound of metal colliding. Shen swung around onto its back right as it tried to reach for him, causing the machine to hit itself. "Hah! Idiot!" The robot spun its torso, independent of its waist, accelerating rapidly. Shen struggled to hold on, but while spinning, he saw its weak spot: a hatch on the beast's back, likely holding important wires or a power source. He reached to pry it off, but was launched from the machine's back before he could get to it. "I know where to aim now, you piece of scrap metal!" The robot again charged him, with no apparent lesson learned from the past attempts. Shen charged as well, but before they met, Shen slid under the swing and in between the golem's legs, standing while turning on a heel. His enemy was vulnerable, still recovering from its missed attack.

Shen lunged at the droid, latching onto the hatch with all the force his arms could muster. He ripped it off, finding no power source or wires, but instead a button. 'Self destruct.' He weighed his options for a moment, but went for broke. He punched through the glass that protected the button and hit it. The beast seemingly powered down, as white light came from any orifices it had. Shen had seen such an effect in movies: nuclear payload. "Oh, no…" He snatched the sword and sprinted towards the edge of the roof, hesitating before he jumped in fear of the height. Not that a fall like that could kill him, anyway. His decision time was cut short, and a colossal bang erupted from behind him. He was launched off of the roof and was sent flying an insane speeds, all the way out of the city and into a nearby mountain. He crashed, creating a small crater. He saw the remnants of his old home, wrecked by a nuclear explosion he caused. He was stuck in place, only able to observe. The city no longer existed.

A message appeared in his vision. 'System rebooting…' The system was not finished rebooting before a mysterious woman clad in incandescent armor appeared. Unable to move or speak until his mechanical parts were finished restarting, he could not object before a flash of light took him from his world.


	5. Ranger from the Forest

**A/N: Sorry for the wait. Overwatch and Dark Souls 3, you know?**

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Ranger _from the Forest_

It is often said that home is where the heart is. But the heart, as a concept, cannot always be traced back to a certain place. For some, the heart is with another person. Others say their heart is in a vague place, like a battlefield. But a ranger who moves from land to land in search of justice and loot says otherwise. His heart does not rest in a location or a person, but rather with his gear, and he is completely content with that. The ranger has seen a lot of action, and a lot of places. He knows that conditions are always shifting, and that the only things he can truly trust are his sword, bow, and boomerang. Elliot's home lies with his possessions, and a fire lies within his soul.

Elliot was born to a small tribe of nomads, who roam the land with no true origin. They were raised to live off of the land, learning how to grow food even in winter, and how to hunt with or without a weapon. Adaptability was key to survival in the tribe. It followed an ideology of "the strong live, the weak die". In this tribe, your parents would only take care of you until you could take care of yourself. If you weren't self sufficient by your tenth year, you'd be cut off from the tribe, exiled. Perhaps the clan was small because of this practice of throwing away children.

Elliot did not make the cut.

On his tenth birthday, Elliot was given some gear and sent off to try and live alone. In a harsh and unforgiving land, exile was practically a death sentence. How could a ten year old boy survive out in a forest all alone, with nothing more than a shortsword and a couple of books? The answer is simple. Absolute, undying will to survive. The first thing he thought of was vengeance, and in order to get it, he'd need to stay alive. So for every beast that came to reap his life, another fire was ignited within the boy's soul, and with every fire came strength. The strong survive. Twelve years later, Elliot struck out from his home in the forest in an attempt to find the clan that he thought had wronged him. He traveled through multiple climates and civilizations, hunting down clues. He rested in a desert settlement's bar one day, asked about the tribe, and learned what had happened.

"That tribe of weirdos?" asked the bartender. "They came through here a while ago and left the day after. And the day after that, they were all found dead by the gorge out west."

Elliot didn't know what to think. He felt robbed of his revenge, but was also relieved. Reason began to seep into his mind as he realized that taking on the whole clan would've been an impossible task anyway. But the majority of his life was spent plotting that revenge, setting himself up for it. Now that there was no subject to exact his vision of justice upon, he had nothing to do. "What's in the gorge?" he asked gruffly.

"Nobody knows," responded the bartender, "because nobody ever returns from it." Elliot's eyes lit up with revelation. If some creature in the gorge had slain his clan, then the only way to fulfill the hole in his mind was to slay the creature. If it had defeated all of them, however, certainly it'd be a suicide mission. Again, the tides of reason and desire crashed within his mind. He decided to sleep on it, and checked into the inn of the town. He dreamt of a great beast fighting him, the one from the gorge. Even though he didn't know what exactly it was, he could dream of defeating it. But at the end of his dream, the beast instead defeated him. It dragged him into the gorge and threw him at a stone wall. Just before impact, he woke up. The fires of his soul blazed once again, and it appeared that the tides of reason had lost. Elliot wanted to fight the creature of the gorge.

He woke at high noon, sleeping in for too long. He rose from his bed, grabbed his gear, and set out west. As he left the town, several of the townspeople warned him to avoid the crevice, a few strangely chuckling about it, and he reassured them that he would. Elliot didn't feel guilty for lying. The town got farther and farther away, falling under the horizon. The desert-like land was hot, and the compressed dirt was rough. Eventually, the twenty-two year old wanderer came across a great gap in the ground, a gorge between two small mountains. It ran deep, and the bottom was too dark to see. It resembled an abyss in a fiery-hot desert. He glared down into the abyss, searching for the creature or even the corpses of the tribe. He found neither, and after waiting a few hours, he gave up and began going back to the town. He had crafted his own sword, bow, and boomerang. He had developed bombs, he had spent countless hours training himself, and it all ended up being for nothing! Elliot was absolutely consumed with rage. By the time he had returned to the bar, it was already dark.

"You lied to me," growled Elliot as he slammed his fist on the table.

"Maybe so, exile," said the bartender, laughing. Elliot's face changed completely, from anger to confusion. The bartender continued, "I'm actually surprised that you've survived this long, and I'm even more surprised that you found us." The other patrons of the bar drew weapons and stood up. "I remember when they exiled you. What was that, twelve years ago?" The bartender lifted his arm, revealing a pistol. "Eh, no matter. You may have survived, but I'll do the elders a favor and finish the job!"

 _Fire._ Elliot came to the conclusion that the supposedly deceased tribe that had left him to die was actually alive, and right under his nose. They had even sent him to some gorge in the middle of nowhere as a joke. He was angered now, more so than ever before. _Fire_ had burned within him for this long, and as soon as it seemed to die out, it exploded in a haze of fury. This bartender had stoked the wrong flame, and there'd be a cold day in hell before Elliot spared him for it. He reached to his waist for his sword, and with a demonic look in his eyes, he drew it.

"Fire," ordered the bartender, seemingly in a position of power. The moment he uttered the word, a flash of steel erupted in front of him, and he fell to the ground, struggling to breathe through the cut in his neck. Elliot vaulted the bar table as a volley of flintlocks opened fire, all missing due to his fast and furious movement. The bar was filled with smoke from the gunpowder, and the tribesmen all reached for their own swords. Nobody could see through the dense smoke, but they all did see a small flicker of light glide through the air. A fuse for a bomb, and a big one, at that.

Elliot rammed through the side door of the bar and bolted towards the next building as the bar exploded. He marveled at the blast, before realizing that the building he was now hiding by also had enemies within it. A tribesman leaned out of the window with a flintlock pistol, and Elliot immediately dived to the side, dodging the lead ball just in time. The gunman began reloading his flintlock, a lengthy process, as Elliot quickly drew a bow and arrow. He took aim and loosed the arrow before the man could react. From around the corner, four swordsmen appeared. Elliot nocked a second arrow and downed one. The remaining three rushed towards him, and Elliot backpedaled while nocking three arrows at the same time. He released the string, and three swordsmen fell at his feet. He went to the corner from which they came and peeked around it, only to see that every person in the small town was there, armed, and ready to kill. The whole place was a death trap. Elliot found it ironic that a clan of nomads would make such a town in twelve years.

He lit another bomb and threw it around the corner. As soon as it detonated, he charged out with his sword and his boomerang equipped. He aimed the boomerang and threw it into a group of 'nomads', not caring to catch it. He charged directly into the crowd, still greatly separated and confused from the bomb, and slashed indiscriminately. When the smoke cleared, only three remained. Elliot, another swordsman, and an old woman with a bow. He engaged the swordsman, but was immediately shot in the shoulder. The man stepped on his chest, cocked back his arm, and attempted to impale Elliot. Elliot parried the blow with his sword, now in his left hand, and lashed it at the swordsman's neck. Only he and the old woman were left, and she fell to her knees.

"We have wronged you, and you have bested us all. Cut me down, I've no reason to live anymore. And don't feel guilty. I already know that the fires of vengeance burn within your soul, and vengeance is justice in its purest form."

Elliot considered his options for a just a moment. "I refuse."

"What? Why?"

"You've wronged me, that's for sure. But for me to slay every last member of a clan in cold blood isn't justice. I've done enough as it is. Take my mercy. I've had my vengeance."

The ranger left without another word. A ways out of the town, he was greeted by our glowing angel, and wasn't seen again.


	6. Revenant from the Shadow Realm

_Revenant from the Shadow Realm_

Death on the battlefield is a real mess. People are clashing, literally. Shields clang on impact with each other, but the sound can't be heard over all the screaming. Spears and swords are stabbed into bodies, blood flies everywhere, warriors attack each other only to be left screaming on the ground, bleeding, trampled, screaming…

Dying.

For some, death is appealing. It seems to them that it is the easiest way to get away from their problems, an easy out when the going gets rough. People can and do take their own lives, normally in the most painless way they can. But to a man with boots on the ground, a man on the front line, death instills one of two feelings. Sheer, inescapable, soul-wrenching fear, or a thrill. Sometimes even both at the same time can be felt, but one thing is for certain. You may want to die, but in a fight, it's the last thing you'll want to let happen. If it isn't, you're too far gone.

Amidst a battlefield stands a paladin. He's a hulking mass of muscle and armor, wielding a spear and great shield. Through swathes of his enemies he cuts and stabs, with a look of determination. A wicked smirk taints his face, giving him an almost lustful appearance. The soldiers under his care fear him more than the enemy, thinking that the man is a sadist. Surely he would be, considering the apparent glee that happens across his entire being when he takes to the battlefield, right?

The man escapes the two archetypes of emotion that everyone else feels. He does not feel fear. He does not feel a thrill. He only experiences an intense desire, but not for the bloodshed of his enemies. The warrior wants to die. He wants it above all else. He vowed once to not take his own life, so he wanders into militaries or mercenary bands, taking any role that brings him to the combat in hopes that he can die there, without breaking that vow. But alas, death escapes him every time. He was simply too strong to die, it seemed. The man's name was Malformed. He was a slave, once, but not anymore. Not to any one person, anyway. By all means, he was indeed a slave to his own desire to die.

He led a band of warriors into combat against a much larger opposing force. They were outnumbered ten to one, but the warriors believed that they could indeed make a stand. Malformed chose this battle because he thought it would bring him the peace he desired. The band spearheaded straight into the front line, and the horrors of war once again rang out, this time in a valley. The echoes of the combat ricocheted off of the mountains, and a deep fog obscured vision. The fog began taking on a sickly red tint, but Malformed did not care. He stood back and watched as the rest of his team died in the fight, charging ahead of him after his display of power in bravado. The opposing force began a forward march when they were finished. He stood in the center of the valley, surrounded from all angles. The enemy closed in, but they were all aware of who they were fighting. No one soldier tread too close to Malformed, and every step they took towards him was fearful. He didn't move. They were hoping to capture him.

Death had other plans.

The first person to touch him was thrown back into the crowd, and the second was impaled with a spear. The third person caught a spike-covered greatshield in the face. Naturally, people stopped approaching him one by one, and everyone charged him.

A large restriction to a soldier is anything they have to lose. A family, friends, a homeland, a goal… any of these would make a soldier think carefully about every move he made. Malformed had nothing to lose, and attacked with reckless abandon. He may have wanted to die, but he'd be damned if some weakling got the honors. The one to kill him had to deserve those honors, they had to be strong enough to earn the title "Slayer of the Manslayer." Although he was outnumbered, it seemed none of his enemies had that strength. None of them could finish the job. Hell, they could hardly dent his armor.

Malformed analyzed his enemy. All around him were imperial guards from some far off land that he didn't really care about. They wore intricate steel plate armor with blue fabrics accenting the rest of the look. They were equipped with anything ranging from swords and shields to warhammers. He had carved out an area around him, an invisible circle that essentially said "don't step here." That circle was about two meters in diameter. Enemies outside of it didn't yet pose a threat, and the ones within it had to be taken care of.

The invisible circle followed him as he forced his way through the enemies, slashing and stabbing wildly but accurately. He wove around the battlefield, stepping over the fallen with finesse and attacking anyone he chose. Not a single soldier was able to stop his march of death. He thrusted the partizan spear, impaling three men on it at once. He spun, bodies still on the spear, knocking anyone who was too close back. The bodies flew off of the spear, and he took his stance again.

His enemies fell around him, unable to match his prowess with the spear and shield. He spun and destroyed the men who tried to flank him, he outmatched any soldier who had the nerve to stand in front of him. "Kill me! Kill me! Kill me!" he roared. He kept chanting it until it began to sound more like a sob than a roar, but he didn't stop fighting. A tear dropped from his eye, visible to all, as he stabbed the umpteenth victim with the partizan.

Malformed was an agent of death who simply wanted to stop living. But his instincts prevented him, his muscled kept snapping to crush his enemies. Nerves fired off, reflexes were armed and ready to kill. His inability to pass on when he was supposed to called the attention of a greater being. The Sun Goddess herself couldn't condone this; it was his time to move on, but he just couldn't. Cut and dry, no man was able to take him out, and more death was dished out than the deity had ever desired. She could not figure out why, as no person had ever before transcended Her divine judgement. The only explanation was that Malformed was a _literal_ agent of death sent by the Moon Goddess. The Sun Goddess had had enough.

From the sky above the battlefield, a luminescent woman in armor descended… she reached down towards Malformed, and light enveloped them. But things didn't occur as they normally would. The agent of light would be sent to collect a person, and she'd do so. When she reached out to reap Malformed, however, he didn't vanish. He fell to one knee for only a second before standing back up and continuing the fight. She attempted again, and he fell to both knees, but he didn't stop swinging. He continued fighting. She attempted the spell a third time, but he didn't vanish with her like specimens normally would. She watched as he fell onto his back. He was dead.

Before the agent of the sun could collect his soul, bony hands ripped out from the ground: the hands of a moon agent. The soldiers couldn't seem to see them, warily walking towards his body. The hands wrapped around him, and dragged him down underground. To cause even more concern to the agent of the sun, the evil agent of the moon seemed to fail the collection as well. It took his body, but his armor seemed to levitate. It rose on its own, with no operator. The disembodied armor continued fighting, machined by the soul of the Malformed; the man born to never die. The agent focused all of her power into one last attempt of the collection, and a light enveloped the entire battlefield. Finally, the soul of Malformed disappeared.

With much trouble, the agent managed to bring him back to the realm of the Sun Goddess. He was dropped into a room with five others already in it. The agent couldn't help but wonder what happened to his mortal body. An agent of the moon snatched it away, leaving only the soul of Malformed. Maybe half of him would have to do. For now, it was assumed that Malformed also belonged to the Shadow Realm…


	7. Dracolyte from the Dragonfire Peaks

_**A/N: A chapter for the Dracolyte, as requested by AcaciaBlossom. Thank you for reviewing!**_

 _Dracolyte of the Dragonfire Peaks_

Treason. Evil. Villainy. Words oftentimes used by those less aware of the ways of the world to describe those who are more so. One of the few laws of the universe is that power means everything. Whether that power comes in the form of gravity or fission or the outlawed worship of dragons doesn't really matter. Perhaps the Dracolyte (now ex-Dracolyte) Volvanna understood this better than her peers: they were constantly called evil for their pursuits of power, how ironic was it that they called her evil for doing the same thing?

Volvanna wasn't born a Dracolyte. It's likely that her name wasn't even Volvanna until she was taken in by the cultists, but that was at a time when she was too young to even remember. She had been kidnapped from her parents at birth and was raised among dragon worshippers all her life. For all intents and purposes, they were her family, and she didn't really seem to care how exactly that came to be, at least not until she approached adulthood. It was only then when she began to question whether her fate was intended to be like this. When she asked her superior Dracolytes, they dodged the question. When she asked the Great Dragon, he simply didn't respond. That, however, was to be expected, for he only spoke to prophets anyways.

At age seventeen, Volvanna was done asking questions. She was done searching for answers in things that had no intention to give them. Hell, maybe she was even done worshipping dragons. She already knew how to forcibly invoke their power, anyway. What benefit was it to stick around?

So, she took off. Alas, this was no simple stealth operation. She didn't spend weeks planning a sneaky escape or some kind of coup. She waited for her next expedition to the top of a volcano, said to be the prime place for draconic sacrifices. And, while the group of cultists walked to the volcano, Volvanna lagged ever so slightly behind. The distance between her and the group slowly grew, and just as she reached the distance that they would find questionable, she made clear her point.

"I'm done with all of you. I'm leaving, and you can't stop me."

The other Dracolytes took a few seconds to process what had happened. Did she say she was leaving? No, that was impossible, nobody left the Dracolytes. Couldn't have been what she said, right?

And then she started running. Suddenly it had clicked with all of them. One by one, then as a group, they all bolted after her. After all, they couldn't just let a Dracolyte out into the world. She could cause so much chaos, go against the will of the dragons, compromise the clan, or any other number of reasons that this could be a disaster.

Volvanna, on the other hand, saw only a golden opportunity. She could take back the life she was supposed to have, the one that was stolen from her all those years ago. She'd be punished, possibly executed, if she was caught. At this point, there was no turning back.

The Dragonfire Peaks are host to a mass number of dungeons and volcanic geysers, as well as hordes of wild beasts that would love the taste of cooked human. The terrain is rough and slippery like gravel, and any mistake could have lead to her capture. Understanding the gravity of the situation, she drew her staff and spewed flame at creatures in her way, staggering over gravel as she did. It was a rough escape route, but it was also difficult to chase her. Eventually, however, she found herself gaping at a great volcano that would take far too long to pass. She turned, only to find herself surrounded. A cultist pleaded, "Don't do this. Come back with us and you'll have a chance to live!"

Volvanna was already set on this path, the one she had chosen. It was too far now, she couldn't just turn back. With her back against the wall, she didn't have any choice left but to fight.

The groups sent to make a sacrifice would be composed of seven people: six Dracolytes and a kidnapped victim for the sacrifice. That meant that she'd have six opponents and a potential ally if things went right. The problem was that those six people were as strong as, if not stronger than, Volvanna, as they had been raised in the same environment. Didn't that strike any of them as wrong? "All of you! You've been stolen from the life that was meant for you, and you're just okay with that? You can't be! Life is meant for you to carve, to lead your own way, blaze your own trail! Why are you just laying it down like this?"

She didn't really expect that to help anything, but she could see some of them flinch. Some of them questioned their own path. But one of the cultists was utterly unfazed: the oldest and most powerful person in the party, no less. She guessed she couldn't have expected him to give up so easily. Magnus Black, an elder of the clan. She didn't know him personally, but everyone had heard of him and his faith to the dragons.

"Your life is insignificant. Every life here is insignificant, including my own. We live and breathe in service of our draconic masters. How dare you rebel, even after being raised under their grace?!" Magnus exclaimed. He began to change. His face slowly became scaled and his body began to grow. The Dracolytes, including Volvanna, looked on in awe. The Dragon Transformation, a final technique that was said to only be a myth. Had he truly achieved such an ability through his devotion alone? His transformation came to an end, as he towered several feet over the other Dracolytes. He unleashed a booming roar that echoed across the mountain range and carried enough force to throw them all off balance.

Volvanna attempted to step back, but slipped on the slope behind her. "Right," she recalled, "Nowhere to run…"

Magnus dropped onto all fours, growling, before he cocked backwards and launched himself through the air with his newfound wings. On a crash course with Volvanna, magma lurched from his mouth like an upset pitcher. She barely jumped to the side in time to avoid the impact, which left a hole in the ground from the force alone. He turned to face her, preparing to roar again, but his face was doused in flames from her staff. The fire had little effect on a dragon, but after a few seconds, something exploded. She had left a Burning Idol under her original position, a bomb triggered by exposure to flames. The explosion caused Magnus to stagger back on his hind legs, showing a softer underbelly as Volvanna staggered back onto her feet. He growled, nearly incomprehensible, but it sounded like he said, "How cute."

Volvanna was stunned that he could even speak, not moving for a moment. However, she felt something move just under her armor's shoulder plate. She snapped to look, thinking she was being ambushed, but was shocked to see an infant dragon squirm its way from the pauldron. She panicked, but it looked straight at Magnus. In its own little attempt to refute his attack, it spat a small fireball at his chest. Despite the small size of the projectile, it did cause a fair explosion against his softer scales. Alas, it only seemed to anger Magnus, who again charged at Volvanna.

She spewed flames from her staff as he approached. When he got close enough, she brought the staff upwards and slammed it diagonally across his face. He hardly flinched, before throwing out his left claw in an attempt to decapitate her. She ducked in time, but still heard the sound of impact. She looked back to see that he had swatted the baby dragon from her shoulder, launching it several feet to the ground. She snapped back to Magnus, infuriated, but he exhaled intense flames. She was blown back onto the ground with scorch marks on her armor. She had landed near another Dracolyte, the one who was holding the hostage. Apparently, he had laid the hostage on the ground, still wrapped in a binding linen. The Dracolyte stared at her, not in rage, but in shock. "V-volv… your face…" was all he managed to sputter out.

Volvanna reached up to touch her face, finding it to be rougher than usual. Almost like the scales of a dragon…

Magnus ceased his fire blast, slowly approaching through the smoke to finish her off. But the figure he was coming to kill wasn't quite the same silhouette as the one he was fighting. It was ever so slightly larger, and instead of the downed enemy he expected, she was charging towards him.

Volvanna again smashed the staff against Magnus' skull, this time with two or three times the force of her first attempt. He was noticeably blown back by the hit, but her attack was not over. She tossed a Burning Idol, blasting flames as it flew. On impact with Magnus, it exploded, successfully launching him through the air. Using his wings, he was able to regain control before landing, now an airborne target. But the silhoutte in the smoke was again changed. This one was still humanoid, a couple of inches taller than Volvanna… and had wings sprouting from its back.

She flew towards him in a blind rage. She had indeed forsaken the draconic path in her attempt to escape, but not in disrespect. She simply wanted to go her own route. For a mere dracolyte to cause such harm to only an infant dragon was sacrilegious. She swung at Magnus, but the hit was deflected by his claw. He spewed flames, but Volvanna flew left in the blink of an eye before literally returning fire.

The other Dracolytes stood in awe, having never seen anything like this. Fire streaked through the air and loud cracks of sound erupted as blows were deflected. The fight rose higher and higher into the sky, surpassing the volcanic clouds. After a minute or so of combat, they watched as a figure fell through the sky. At this point, they were all divided. Some were rooting for Magnus and some for Volvanna, but all were amazed as the figure descended. Not a dragon, but a human fell from the heights, black with pitch. They slammed into the ground with a bounce. A Dracolyte approached to look at Volvanna, but was surprised to see that, as the scales faded, it was a white-haired man. Magnus had fallen, breathing raggedly.

Slowly, the other combatant descended from the sky, flapping wings. Still more human than dragon, Volvanna looked like some sort of dark angel as she came back down to the earth. She landed, paying no mind to the other Dracolytes. She immediately made her way to the infant dragon. She kneeled, picking it up into her hands like a newborn kitten. "Don't worry," she whispered, "I'll take care of you." Her wings began to shrink, disappearing into her back, and the scales on her face seemed to recede under her black hair. When her face was visible again, they were all gone. The only draconic feature that remained was the tail, and that was just a decorative attachment to the armor.

She stepped up onto the stone where the hostage carrier was, intending to free them. To her own surprise, he had already cut the linens, freeing the would-be sacrifice. It was revealed to be a little girl, no older than eight years. Volvanna cradled the dragon in one hand and placed her staff on her back, before picking up the girl with her other hand and placing her over the shoulder. The carrier had backed away, now forming a crowd with the remaining Dracolytes.

"I insist upon all of you, for your own sakes. Leave this place. All of our lives have been stolen, and it's time we took them back. I'm not the youngest person here; Some of you still have even more of a life left to live than I do. And I'm not the oldest; some of you have more to teach the world. Carve your own path, and leave this forsaken land to itself."

She turned to walk off, but was greeted by a strange, angelic woman.


	8. Barbarian from Candoria

_**A/N: A chapter for the Candy Barbarian, as requested by Furious Pom. Thank you for the support! It's easier to write when I know someone is reading it.**_

 _Candy Barbarian from "Candoria"_

There exists many strange places in the universe. There's cities constructed from enormous neon pylons and oceans of faux water that are toxic to the most resilient of beings… but then there's Candoria. A land constructed entirely from sugary delights, crafted seemingly from nature. Is this place even real?

A man named Faustin never ponders such questions. Of course it was real! It had to be, he lived in it! The place was a wonderland in its structure, to be certain, but its inhabitants left much to be desired. Faustin, however, had such an affinity with the sweets that formed his home that he would deal with them. He'd have to slay any rogue Gingerbread Men he came across, sure, but anything was worth it to him when he finally got his teeth in the chocolate.

One could call Candoria desolate. The main population of Candoria lied in the sentient sweets that dominated it. Any number of creatures could be conjured from the materials here, ranging from spirals of licorice to living ice cream sundaes. Unfortunately, they weren't particularly friendly creatures, and being created from literally the ground up, there was effectively an endless supply of them. The rare adventurer that found the place normally met his end at those nectarous and brutal hands. From what Faustin had seen of such adventurers, they didn't even seem to care that they had found such a place. It was as if they had stumbled into the candyland without ever meaning to, only to be captured or killed by delicious beasts.

Faustin had to always stay moving. The sweetbeasts, as he had called them, were always out to get him. They always seemed to outnumber him. How was he supposed to eat in peace when his meal's friend was trying to disturb him? An uninterrupted indulgence was rare, but he found that by staying nomadic, he could maximize his eating time and minimize his fighting time, as the sweetbeasts would have to spend time tracking him down. Of course, there was the occasional occurrence of an ambush, but it was never something he couldn't handle.

Never.

Faustin was a massive man, standing at seven feet tall (or 2.1 meters, for the metrically inclined.) He was a pale and otherwise gentle giant, and had long white hair from age. With his great muscles, he wielded twin battleaxes with ease. He even named them the Sugarteeth, and they themselves were no less than five feet long (1.5 meters!) One would think that the sweetbeasts would know better than to attack such an imposing man, especially while he devoured his favored foods.

Faustin had lived in Candoria all his life, or at least as far as he could remember. His earliest memory was awakening in the candyland some fifty years prior. He, however, was already an adult by then. He didn't care that he couldn't remember his childhood: no memory could possibly be better than this place. Reminiscing of his times slaying great Pound Cakes, he lazed around a fire fueled by wood supplied by churro trees while slowly working down a lollipop. It had been a long walk to this encampment, and he had to come earlier in the year than he normally would as the sweetbeasts had discovered his last campout.

Without a care in the world for his lost home, he gazed through the darkness at a ginormous castle composed of cake. It was several miles away, but it was such a huge cake that it could be seen from any distance. That cake had been his objective since the day he saw it. The sweetbeast population was most concentrated there, though, and despite his numerous attempts, he just couldn't get through to the building. "Maybe I try again tomorrow," he muttered to himself, falling asleep.

He did not find a full night's sleep.

Once more, his resting place had been discovered by the delectable demons. This time, they came in great numbers, even greater than the last raid. Faustin, unfazed, slowly rose from his hammock of taffy. He gazed upon the army of candied combatants and didn't bat an eye. He instead reached down to the ground and picked up a glass, taking in several swigs of flat soda before tossing the cup aside. The front line dared not move towards him, individual footsoldiers afraid to meet a sour end. But the line didn't need to mobilize, as a double headed axe flew towards it, catching a Gingerbread Man in the face.

Faustin did not need sleep to fight. A sugar rush and a load of caffeine was enough for him, as evidenced by his immediate charge into the crowd of candy. He swung his remaining axe in wide arcs, grabbing the second once he had enough space to do so safely.

A candy cane spearman lunged into Faustin, but his sugar-tipped blade found nothing more than armor. He was cleaved in two as fructose flew through the air, and a gum drop fell from Faustin's pocket. Faustin immediately dropped to retrieve it, gulping it down in his gluttony while the broken rank of soldiers closed in around him. Now surrounded, one would think Faustin was routed. They would be utterly wrong, however, as he began to swing his axes with twice the speed. The enemies were unable to keep up with the pace, and even after it slowed down, they found themselves getting wrecked by Faustin's Sugar Crash and Vanilla Swirlwind techniques. It became apparent eventually that they did have the numbers to take him down, as he slowed and slowed before falling asleep once more from a true sugar crash.

When he awoke some thirteen hours later, he was locked up in chains, being dragged somewhere. He looked around, finding himself completely covered by more Gingerbread Men, led by a Licorice Lasher and tailed by a Cupcake Catapult. They dragged him to that consecrated ground he had dreamed of for years: the Grand Cake Castle. He stared, starry eyed at the great structure of sweetness, now entranced rather than enraged. He had never been this close to it before.

The convoy of candy arrived at a gate of sorts, composed of black licorice. The leading Lasher made strange noises, communicating with something manning the gate which immediately opened it. Now, he saw his chance.

Faustin had invoked the great deity Eis Crom through sugar-coated prayers.

Forming a deal with the god of candy had its perks, obviously, the grandest of which being the ability to _summon an ice cream cone from the sky._ Alas, this was no normal ice cream cone, but one the size of a small house. The sun was partially blotted out as the cone crashed into the ground, shattering on impact. All of the sweetbeasts were disoriented and confused, and Faustin used this opportunity to break his restraints. He roared a long roar, straining to rip through his tough chains of bubblegum, before finally tearing free. The sweetbeasts panicked and began to scatter, some running off and some preparing to engage him.

The Cupcake Catapult in the back was holding the Sweeteeth in its 'jaws' and had no time to react as the behemoth of a man charged into it, blowing it back into the cotton candy ground. Faustin kicked up his axes before pulling an about face to greet his remaining enemies. He then completely ignored them as he charged straight through the open gates and into the Grand Cake Castle's courtyard. Arriving at the door, Faustin began to chop away at the malasada wood, picking up a piece to eat before blasting the whole thing off of the hinges and moving inside. His pursuers halted at the door, before they all lowered themselves slowly. They seemed to be surrendering.

He glanced around the room noticing several other candied creatures cowering in fear. He cautiously and slowly walked about the room, sweetbeasts whimpering with every step. These ones seemed more exquisitely topped, with a lot more frosting than the soldier types. He continued farther into the castle, finding a throne room decorated with all kinds of sweets. Guards seemed to quiver just by seeing him. The apparent king of the castle hurriedly got out of his throne, even pulling off his candy crown and presenting it to Faustin, who ended up devouring it anyways before sitting in the throne. He couldn't be much more content as he gnawed at the crown.

The agent of the sun seemingly phased through the ceiling. She looked around the room, astounded by what she was seeing. Mahogany floors were scuffed and plates were strewn about a great dining table, as people cowered by the walls of the room. They were dressed finely, apparent nobles. In the throne was a huge man, chewing a golden, jeweled crown. Hesitantly, she came to accept her duty and collected the barbarian. The Sun Goddess needed powerful warriors, even if they were mentally unstable…


End file.
